Category: History

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The House That Steel Built: Lessons in Grit from Edgar and Miss Allie Smith’s Front Porch

Allie Murray Smith

This morning I am sitting on the front porch of a historic home in Plains, Georgia known as Mother Allie’s House . Rain is falling softly and the birds are singing. Everything is peaceful and beautiful – and I am grateful for the opportunity to be here. This is the home where former First Lady of the United States, Rosalynn Carter, was raised along with her three siblings. Today, it is a beautifully preserved rental guest home/VRBO, lovingly and meticulously put together by the family to deeply reflect the warmth and history of someone I have discovered to be an absolutely remarkable woman – Mrs. Frances Allethea (Murray) Smith – affectionately known to many as “Miss Allie”.

​The family has generously placed many wonderful books about the Smith and Carter families in this house, making it easy to learn during your stay about the history of this home and the people who lived here.

By all accounts, Miss Allie’s early life was filled with the warmth of a happy childhood. Born just south of Plains on Christmas Eve, 1905, she was the deeply cherished daughter of John William “Captain” Murray and Rosa Nettie Wise Murray. Before Allie was born, her parents suffered a devastating heartbreak when their only son tragically passed away before reaching his first birthday. After that profound loss, Allie grew up essentially as an only child on the family farm. Knowing the sorrow her parents carried surely made them dote on her even more, pouring their love, protective attention, and family resources into their only daughter.

​In 1924, after Allie graduated from Plains High School, her parents did something truly extraordinary for a rural farming family: they sent her to college. To understand how vast that ambition was, you have to realize that during that era, less than 5% of all Americans held a college degree. It was a time when a woman’s opportunities were drastically limited, but Allie’s family obviously deeply valued the intellect of their daughter. She moved to Milledgeville to attend the Georgia State College for Women. There, she earned a degree in teaching, specializing in home economics, and graduated with her diploma on June 7, 1926.

​Less than two weeks later, on June 20, 1926, she married her sweetheart, Wilburn Edgar Smith, who was nine years her senior. Theirs was a rare, lifelong romance that had begun years earlier. Later in life, Allie would frequently tell her children that Edgar was the only man for her, and that she could never love another—a promise of absolute devotion she kept for the rest of her days.

​Historical records and Rosalynn Carter’s own memoirs reveal that Edgar Smith’s passion for education was rooted in his own deferred dreams. Edgar was an incredibly intelligent man, but because his own family needed him to work, he never had the opportunity to go to college himself. He spent his life surrounded by books, reading voraciously, and watching the world change. Because he couldn’t pursue higher education, he made it a mission of his life that each of his children would.

​To build a secure life for his new bride and the four children that soon followed—Eleanor Rosalynn, William Jerrold, Murray Lee, and Lillian Allethea—he became a true jack-of-all-trades. He was an avid farmer, a clerk at a local store, and a school bus driver. Most notably, he stepped up to meet the demands of the changing times by owning and operating the very first auto mechanic and repair shop in Sumter County….just down the street from where I’m sitting now. He was the man who kept the rural community moving forward, fixing the temperamental engines of early automobiles and maintaining the tractors that were revolutionizing modern farming. Beyond his manual labor and entrepreneurial drive, Edgar was a deeply respected civic leader, actively shaping the town’s future as an elected member of the Plains Town Council.

​Through genius and sacrifice, Edgar used his multiple jobs to quietly build a college fund for his children, methodically purchasing U.S. Savings Bonds and funneling every spare penny from his mechanic shop into a sacred, untouchable account. I am amazed that he was so forward thinking – that he valued education so much that he saved (during hard times) to send his children to college. Can you imagine?

​In 1928, when their eldest daughter Rosalynn was just a sixteen-month-old toddler, Edgar and Allie moved the family into a house on South Bond Street – the same house where I am spending the week. Together, they built a life here on a foundation of community service, visionary hard work, and family devotion…and looked forward to a long life together.

​However, in the late 1930s, Edgar fell terribly ill with leukemia – and at that time there were no effective treatments. For over a year, the family watched his health decline, comforted by local neighbors like Miss Lillian Carter—Jimmy Carter’s mother—who visited daily as a registered nurse to administer his routine medical injections. On October 22, 1940, Edgar passed away at home at the young age of 44.

​At just 35 years old, Miss Allie was suddenly a grieving widow with four young children and no job to support them. When you look at the ages of her children at the time of her husband’s death, the sheer weight of her new reality is staggering: Rosalynn was 13, Jerry was 11, Murray was 8 (turning eight on the exact day his father died), and Allethea was 3. In the immediate aftermath, a heartbroken Miss Allie penned a line that laid bare her grief:

“I miss him and I don’t know what I will do without him.”

​When Edgar died, he managed to leave behind a small inheritance and savings account for his family. But as Howard Norton details in Rosalynn, A Portrait, Rosalynn recalled that her mother fiercely resolved never to touch a single cent of that inheritance. She was determined to bring up and educate her children entirely through her own efforts, keeping Edgar’s sacred college fund intact. What a determined lady.

​The blows kept coming. Less than a year after losing her husband, Allie’s mother, Rosa, passed away at age 60. Suddenly, Allie was not only raising four small children alone, but her aging, grieving father, “Captain” Murray, came to live with them in the house. It is almost impossible to imagine how terrifyingly hard it must have been for her. For fourteen years, she had lived a sheltered life centered around being a protected homemaker. Now, she had to navigate intense, compounding family grief while carrying the sole financial survival and care of six people on her shoulders. I am sleeping in Miss Allie’s bedroom this week – and when I lay down at night I have been thinking about the weight of responsibility she must have felt – yet all of the stories I hear from others about her are stories of her love, her faith, her strength, and her joy. What a remarkable lady.

​To make a living, Miss Allie started taking in sewing. She didn’t just mend clothes; she took on master-level tailoring. She crafted beautiful, intricate wedding dresses—which quickly became one of her highly sought-after specialties—and she even tackled the incredibly difficult task of making tailored men’s suits and heavy overcoats from scratch. Ladies from the community valued her work. When they found a dress somewhere that they admired, she could study it and then make it for them. There are several examples of her work here in the house – and they are absolutely beautiful.

​One steady, dependable source of income came from the family farm – which she rented out instead of selling. However, even though she needed that cash to keep the household running, she insisted on funneling every single penny of that rent money straight into the untouchable savings for her children’s college funds.

​She took other work to support her family – working in the school cafeteria and as a grocery store clerk. After a few years, she took the federal civil service examination, passed it, and was awarded a position as an assistant to the postmaster at the local post office in Plains. It became a defining pillar of her life. She clocked in at 7:00 AM every single morning for 29 years, walking to work from this very house. She loved her job and the daily connection it gave her to the townspeople. When she reached the mandatory federal retirement age of 70, she was still sharp, energetic, and fully capable of working. She fought passionately against leaving, but federal regulations forced her to step down against her will—an experience that deeply saddened her.

​(In an incredible and wonderful twist of history, that mandatory retirement rule wouldn’t stand forever. Her son-in-law, President Jimmy Carter, signed the Age Discrimination in Employment Act Amendments into law, raising and eventually eliminating mandatory retirement ages for federal employees.)

​Even after her forced retirement, Allie refused to slow down, taking a part-time job at a local flower shop just to keep busy. Her younger son Murray beautifully remembered that while the family was technically poor, “she forgot to tell us.” No matter how hard things got, Murray recalled always getting exactly what he needed, whether it was a new pair of basketball shoes or a baseball glove. She encouraged her children to work early; Murray delivered papers, delivered groceries, clerked in the local store, and worked behind the soda fountain at the drug store before he was even 12 years old.

​In the book Rosalynn, A Portrait, the future First Lady reflected on the painful time when the family was dealing with the loss of her father, sharing a memory that would shape her forever:

​”We depended on mother for everything after father died. And that’s when I saw my mother develop into a strong, independent person, assuming full responsibility for the family and asking no help or charity from anyone. That made a deep impression on me. I’m sure it turned out to be a permanent influence.”

​In a beautiful personal tribute written later in life (found in the book Mother Allie’s Recipes), Rosalynn expanded on that legacy:

​”My mother was a wonderful role model for me. She was always there when I needed her; she had confidence in me and encouraged me in whatever I tried to do; and she taught me by her example… I watched her take charge, and do what she had to do. Those early experiences helped prepare me to accept my own challenges and do the best I could with them.”

​But Allie didn’t just provide food, clothes, and tuition—she anchored her children in something much deeper. Her son, Murray Lee Smith (named after Mother Allie’s maiden name), noted that his mother’s personal demonstration of Christianity in her life, combined with her insistence that her children go to Sunday school, church, and study the Bible regularly, gave them all a spiritual bedrock that never faltered. As Murray beautifully penned,

“We grew up seeing Christ through mother. She was a wonderful person and the greatest mother in the world.”

​As a single parent, Miss Allie had to serve as both mother and father to her children. Rather than ruling with an iron fist, she raised her children with intelligence and example. Her oldest son Jerry recalled how his mother uniquely used psychology on them when they started dating. Unlike the parents of almost all their peers, Miss Allie famously refused to lay down a strict, rigid curfew. Instead, she chose a tactic that was far more powerful and impactful. As Jerry remembered:

​”…Mother repeatedly impressed on us that she had tried all our lives to teach us what is right and what is wrong, and that if we hadn’t learned that by then, she had failed as a mother. Well, after a quiet lecture like that, when we all went out with our dates we were determined that we would do the right thing so mother would not feel that she had failed and we almost always got home at a reasonable hour.”

​In his own heartfelt note (found in the book Mother Allie’s Recipes), Jerry shared just how unbreakable that bond remained into adulthood:

​”Mother was my best friend. She cannot be replaced. Even though I had moved far away, married and had children of my own, she remained my best friend. She was always there in my times of need. A telephone call was all it took. Every decision ever made by me in my entire life was and will continue to be guided by the fine Christian upbringing provided by my beloved mother.”

​Sitting on her porch today, I am thinking a lot about this remarkable lady. Her life inspires me – and reading the tributes from her children brings tears to my eyes. Her youngest daughter, Allethea, beautifully wrote this sentiment in her own tribute to her Mother (found in the Mother Allie cookbook):

​”God made a miracle when he made Mother. She was my friend, my confidant, my inspiration, both mother and father to me… I miss her and even though she is no longer with us I still feel her presence. She did all she could do for us here on earth and now she has gone on to heaven to get it ready for us.”

​Sending four children to college in that day and age as a single, widowed mother was nothing short of incredible. Yet, because of Edgar’s vision, Allie’s steel-willed determination, and their shared foundation of faith and trust, every single one of their four children graduated from college—fulfilling Edgar’s dreams and setting off a ripple effect of leadership that would eventually reach the global stage.

​In future posts, I can’t wait to take you on a little tour of this historic home and show you the wonderful mementos that the family has preserved here—the breathtakingly intricate needlework, the delicate crochet, and the beautiful things she made with the very same hands that scrubbed floors, provided hugs, and sorted mail.

​But today, I just want to honor the legacy of Edgar and Allie together. I am so grateful to get to spend the week in their home and learn from the examples and the ideals they lived by. In a world that often celebrates loud, flashy achievements, I am standing in awe of the quiet, fierce, unbreakable strength that built this household. They proved that with enough vision, faith, grit, and love, two ordinary people can hold the world together for their children in an extraordinary manner.

​Isn’t that remarkable?

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Want to stay at Mother Allie’s House? Click https://www.motherallieshouse.com/

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Sister Schubert Rolls and Aluminum Foil

an empty roll and a piece of aluminum foil

Happy Thursday, friends!

Let’s all be kind to each other today…. because you know what? We all carry silent, invisible weights. Even though our days are full of blessings – we also all have pains. Sometimes, a person will drop what they are doing and just freeze, stopped dead in their tracks by a sudden wave of emotion, and the people standing right next to them won’t have a single clue why.

I used to have a friend whose favorite catchphrase was, “That’s so weird,” whenever she encountered a person or emotional reaction or a situation she didn’t quite understand. I loved her dearly, but I always winced inside when she said that phrase. Just because a person’s behavior or feelings are unfamiliar to our own lived experience doesn’t make them “weird.” It usually just means we don’t know the story behind it…we don’t understand. We don’t always know what hurts, what fears, what pains a person is carrying behind their smiles.

A Quiet Moment of Reflection

Take last night, for instance. If you had walked into my kitchen, you would have seen a grown woman standing by the cabinets, holding an empty cardboard tube with tears in her eyes. To a stranger, it would probably look weird, but to me, it was a quiet moment of unexpected reflection.

When my parents passed away, I made the decision to move into their house in Green Forest. Even though I had never lived in this house before, it felt like I had… because in many ways, it is the house I grew up in.

When I was a little girl, Mother and Daddy sat down together and carefully drew a house plan that Daddy then built between Hattieville and Old Hickory, Arkansas. Since that house and this house are basically identical, this home has always felt to me like the house I grew up in.

After Mother passed away—she was my last surviving parent—I found joy in the little daily reminders left behind in her space. After moving in, I definitely worked to make the house feel like mine, but I also loved seeing the things that she had left, that she had used. They were precious connections to her, and I treasured each one of them.

But… she’s been gone for almost four years now—and slowly, inevitably, those daily physical reminders, those physical connections are getting fewer and farther between….and I miss them.

The End of the Supply

Last night, I was getting ready to bake some Sister Schubert cinnamon rolls. I was excited to try them! I turned on the oven and started eagerly reading through the instructions. They said to cover the pan loosely with aluminum foil…

…so I walked over to this really cool, custom dispenser that Mother had built into her kitchen cabinets for wax paper, plastic wrap, and aluminum foil. I reached up, grabbed the edge of the foil, and pulled.

As it unrolled, I pulled up a bit preparing to tear it off… but instead, it fell free. It was the end of the roll.

This was a roll of aluminum foil that my mother had bought, and taken out of the box, and placed on that holder when this was still her house. I had just used the very last of her physical supply.

It stopped me for a moment, and it made me remember. I stood in my kitchen holding that piece of aluminum foil thinking about how much she loved her house, how much she loved to cook, how much she loved to smile and laugh, how much she loved to give to others, and about how much she loved me…and I missed her. Tears came to my eyes, and I stood there in the quiet kitchen holding that empty roll for a minute, just treasuring the moment—the physical connection to the mother who birthed me, who loved me, and who worked so hard to build a happy life for me…

The Things That Never Run Out

…and that’s what’s really important. The love she and Daddy poured into me, the things they taught me, the deep joy they wanted for my life, the prayers they prayed for me, the examples they set for me. Those things never go away. They never run out.

So…while it could have definitely looked weird for me to tear up over a box of aluminum foil last night—it really wasn’t. It was just a daughter loving her mother and savoring the memories of the times they shared together.

You really never know what’s going on in a person’s mind and what fears and hurts and pain they carry… because we all have them. So let’s all just be kind today. We are all in this together. ❤️❤️❤️

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:32

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The Interconnected Tapestry of Life: Finding Connections Wherever We Go

A vintage Capitol Records 45 RPM vinyl record of Merle Haggard and The Strangers singing Grandma Harp.

Have you ever had those moments where you realize the world is so much smaller, and that we are all so much more beautifully interconnected than we realize?

For as long as I can remember, I have been a collector of hidden connections… not things you can hold in your hand, but all the little moments, the little pieces of treasure that life routinely drops in our path.

I think it stems from how I was raised and the journeys life has taken me on so far. My parents and I moved to Carroll County, Arkansas, when I was a little girl… and I suddenly felt so far away from everyone and everything I’d ever known. Before our move, we had lived in a safe, cozy, loving cocoon of family—and suddenly, we knew absolutely no one. It made the world feel kinda big, exciting, scary, lonely, and unpredictable all at once.

Very quickly though….I began to find some connections…and as it turned out, our new county wasn’t such an unfamiliar place after all! Daddy told me that my great-uncle Ira had once worked in the Berryville Post Office building—not for the postal service, but in the county agent’s office. How neat! To this day, I still think of him almost every time I drive by that beautiful old building – and I enjoy the connection.

When I started school in Green Forest, I found out that it wasn’t a place without ties either; my cousin Sarah had graduated from high school there in 1951. Ironically, two of her classmates from that graduating class were sisters, Eula and Ramona, who both ended up becoming our neighbors. Ramona has since passed away, but her sweet son and daughter-in-law are still my neighbors today, and Eula lives just across the fields from me. (Isn’t that cool?)

Those early experiences taught me a lesson I haven’t forgotten: There are always connections around for us to find… and they can help to comfort us and make anywhere feel like home.

I am forever grateful to my parents for diligently emphasizing to me that it’s important to be friendly, to respect others, to appreciate blessings, to strive to approach each day with joy… and to develop and maintain a curious mind that is always eager to learn. Because of that, I see life every day as an incredibly beautiful, varied tapestry that is never truly finished. We go through our days collecting tiny pieces of information, stories, memories, interactions, and moments…things to think about and then carefully tuck away to remember…always looking for new things to connect them to…

Sometimes, the connections come quickly and click right into place. Other times, it takes decades for a memory to find its match. But when the threads finally tie together, it is such fun!

Let me give you an example:

When I was a little girl, we listened to music a lot—either in the car on our fancy new 8-track player (lol) or in the living room on our big, wooden console stereo cabinet. (Google them if you don’t know—they were huge and very cool…at the time! 🙂 ) We spent a lot of time listening to southern gospel albums, comedy albums, classic country music (well… it wasn’t classic then, but it is now!), and more.

One of the many artists we enjoyed was Merle Haggard. His voice would drift out of that wooden console cabinet singing “Mama Tried,” “Okie from Muskogee,” “Silver Wings,” “Workin’ Man Blues,” and “If We Make it Through December.” Great singer—he had such a smooth, relaxed, rich voice…

Years later, I was in college and living with Mel and Judy Tillis, taking care of their sweet little daughter. One morning when I woke up and went sleepily upstairs for breakfast, I found Merle Haggard sitting in the living room visiting with Mel. I said hello and quickly left them to their conversation, but I was really excited to tell Mother and Daddy that I had met Mr. Haggard. It created a wonderful new connection—linking that real-life morning to those childhood days listening to his music with Daddy.

A few years ago, another unexpected tie surfaced on a road trip. A friend and I were driving on Highway 69 across Oklahoma. I glanced up at a road sign and at the last minute saw an exit for “Checotah.” I immediately flipped on my turn signal and tapped the brake to slow down and exit the highway. My friend looked at me curiously, wondering why we were detouring. I smiled and told her we had to take a minute to “drag main” through Checotah because it was Carrie Underwood’s hometown! She asked me how on earth I knew that, and I told her I had learned it from a song. I opened up Spotify and played “I Ain’t in Checotah Anymore” as we rolled through town. Such fun!

Highway 69 exit sign - Checotah, Oklahoma

When we stopped to get a soda, we started digging into the history of Checotah (population 3,110) a little bit…and we found another small connection: Merle Haggard had ties there also. His parents, James Francis Haggard and Flossie Mae Harp, had lived and farmed in Checotah before moving out to California, where Merle was born. I tucked what we had learned away in my mind… another random bit of history collected.

Fast forward several years…and the connections really start to get more interesting. Working in and living near Harrison, I often drive over to Newton County, Arkansas. It’s a beautiful part of the state—and a great “day trip” destination. I love to eat at the Ozark Cafe or the Cliff House Restaurant. I love to drive through Lost Valley, Steel Creek, and Ponca just to soak in the calming beauty of nature and take a few pictures. I love to park and watch the elk. There is so much to see and do there…it’s good for the soul!

A few years ago, while I was in Ponca taking pictures one day, I walked over to explore an old historic cabin sitting near the intersection of Highways 43 and 74, not far from the Ponca low-water bridge.

A brown wooden sign that reads Boxley Valley Historic District, Buffalo National River, with a historic log cabin and autumn trees in the background.

It was fascinating! The National Park Service’s historical marker about the “Beaver Jim Villines Boyhood Home” explained how Abraham Villines and his children were among the earliest pioneer families to settle in the Buffalo River Valley, carving a home out of the wilderness back in the 1850s. I snapped a photo of the sign and took some pictures of the old cabin, admiring the hand-hewn logs, thinking about the hardships of the day-to-day lives of the family who built it, and feeling a deep appreciation for all the history preserved there. I tucked this new information back in my mind and went on enjoying the day.

An outdoor informational placard detailing the history of Beaver Jim Villines and his pioneer family settling along the Buffalo River.

Fast forward again! At Harrison Schools, I work with a friend named Matt Piper. Like me, Matt is greatly interested in history, family, and ancestry. One day, he mentioned a song to me that was written about a member of his family—his great-great-great aunt Martha Frances Arizona Belle “Zona” Villines Harp. (I absolutely LOVE her name! Stop and say it out loud to yourself. Isn’t it great?)

A vintage Capitol Records 45 RPM vinyl record of Merle Haggard and The Strangers singing Grandma Harp.

The song is titled simply “Grandma Harp,” and it was written and recorded back in 1971 by country music artist Merle Haggard as a tribute to his maternal grandmother. I loved learning this! (In case you’re now wondering—that makes Matt a second cousin, three times removed to Mr. Haggard. Very cool, Matt!!!)

A black and white historical family photograph from 1897 featuring the Hosea and Harriet Villines family, including a young Zona Villines.

After work that day, I was excited to hear the song, so I pulled up “Grandma Harp” on Spotify and listened to it a few times on my drive home. It was a B-side recording – but it’s actually been covered by a few other artists…and I can see why. It’s a simple, sweet, and incredibly loving tribute. In the spoken-word prologue, Mr. Haggard reflects on how his grandmother lived through an era of great historical and social change—from horse-and-buggy days to the very first automobiles, to seeing a man walk on the moon and living through two world wars…all while “rearing a decent family out of poverty and loving the same old Grandpa for seventy years”.

The lyrics made me thoughtful about life, our heritage, and the lasting impact we leave on others… As I drove home listening to the song, all of these separate stories suddenly clicked.

The voice coming through my car speakers was the same voice I used to hear on my parents’ record player as a little girl in Hattieville, Arkansas. It was the same man I had met briefly as a college student in Branson. And the “Grandma Harp” he was singing about carried the maiden name Villines—relatives of the pioneer family whose historic log cabin I had explored and photographed in Ponca… and the same family with connections to the little town of Checotah, Oklahoma, and to my coworker Matt in Harrison.

There really are beautiful connections all around us every day.

It was a beautiful reminder to keep our eyes wide open and our hearts curious. We are never truly strangers in a new place, because if you dig just an inch below the surface, you’ll find that the stories of our lives are all quietly walking down the exact same paths. What a beautiful reminder that we are all a little more connected than we think.

Listen Along: If you like, you can listen to Merle Haggard’s “Grandma Harp” on YouTube. Take a moment to listen to the spoken-word prologue at the beginning—it is just lovely.

Have you ever discovered a surprising connection to a piece of history, a place, or someone from your past right in your own backyard? I would absolutely love to hear your story!

If you enjoyed this reflection, please consider following my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/lisa.carlon.5 where I share photos, porch updates, travel stories, reflections, and quiet moments from our beautiful Ozarks.

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Memories Served Fresh at Table One

A close-up view of a personalized celebrity signature in black ink reading To Lisa Best Wishes Buddy Ebsen on textured brown paper.

Memories Served Fresh at Table One

I had supper at Cracker Barrel in Branson last night. I have loved Cracker Barrel in general for a long time—but this particular old store is the most special of all to me… because I worked there as a hostess when it first opened back in 1993. I’ve spent a lot of time in that building – and as I walked into the restaurant last night, I was remembering.

It was so exciting when Cracker Barrel first announced they would be opening in Branson. It was such a popular restaurant chain back then—and at the time, almost all of their restaurants were located along interstates. When the Branson store was built, we learned when training, it was the second store in the nation to be located away from interstate traffic. (It worked out pretty well—the store was always packed!).

Employee training before the store opened was actually pretty educational and fun. We learned all of the company’s customer service and guest hospitality expectations. We learned the routines and procedures to keep things moving efficiently for guests. We learned about the quality of all the food and where it came from so that we could be knowledgeable and helpful if guests had questions. I still remember them proudly emphasizing to us that the catfish was raised in Mississippi and was only top fed—never bottom fed. (Bottom fed catfish are eating in the mud—so top feeding is much cleaner and more desirable and produces tastier fish.)

The best part of training was the requirement that we sample most of the different dishes so that we could describe them to customers, if needed. That was great fun! On breaks, we played the peg game that sits on every Cracker Barrel table. I found a pattern to use when I played it and worked to memorize the steps. I can still beat it every single time. 🙂

When the store opened, it was to great excitement – and it was busy. Guests arrived from literally all over the world—and it was such fun to meet and visit with them. (Back in those days—visiting and making connections with new people you met was still valued significantly.)

The Branson boom was happening then also—and at that time, the Roy Clark Theater was one of the newest things around in Branson. Unlike the great local resident shows, it featured a rotating lineup—booking legendary, out-of-town stars to come in and headline for a week or so at a time.

One week, Mr. Buddy Ebsen was booked to play at Roy Clark. I was excited to think of Mr. Ebsen being in town. I had grown up watching him on Barnaby Jones and The Beverly Hillbillies (that show was HUGE in its day – birthing great successful spin-offs like Petticoat Junction and Green Acres). I also remembered a guest spot he did on The Andy Griffith Show – an episode where he plays a rambler that befriends Opie. I always thought he played his parts – whether a hillbilly, a detective, or a vagrant – with such dignity.

To me, he was Hollywood gold – a true legend. Did you know? Walt Disney actually hired him to dance in front of cameras so animators could study his lanky, fluid movements to create Mickey Mouse’s very first dance steps. He danced with darling little Shirley Temple in the 1936 movie Captain January. He was even cast as the original Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz, though an almost-fatal allergic reaction to the aluminum dust in the silver makeup forced him to leave the role. He also served his country in World War II as an officer in the U.S. Coast Guard, and later played Doc Golightly (husband to Audrey Hepburn’s character Holly Golightly) in the iconic film Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Mr. Ebsen was in his mid-80’s now – but he still loved to sing and dance and tell stories….and so he was booked to play in Branson. I was excited that he and his entourage came in to eat after his first show one night. I seated them at the big round table to the right – the first one after you go in – just past the hostess stand. Even though it’s right in front – most people pass it without seeing it…so I knew he would probably be left alone.

All of us at Cracker Barrel were excited that he was there – but we knew better than to bother him so we just smiled and whispered to one another with excitement. Some of the restaurant guests talked about how much they had enjoyed Mr. Ebsen’s show that night….never knowing that he was sitting just a few feet away.

The next night, he and his group returned – and I seated them at the same table. They came back the next night, and the next, and the next. Mr. Ebsen was friendly – and we (staff) soon discovered that he enjoyed visiting us – so we got more comfortable. I told him that I had enjoyed watching him in The Beverly Hillbillies – and asked him if he knew that the old truck used in the show was now located in the Ralph Foster Museum on the campus of College of the Ozarks in Branson. He said he had often wondered what happened to that old truck through the years and thanked me for telling him.

I watched the clock each night – hoping he would again stop by – and he always did. He would walk in with a smile and bright, twinkling eyes – but an air of dignity as well. By the end of his short run in Branson, I had gotten to visit with him briefly a few different times, and I felt fortunate. When I knew it was the last night he would be there, I asked for his autograph and he kindly agreed…..so I took a menu (I miss these old Cracker Barrel menus greatly now that so much has changed – but that’s a completely different story for another day!!!) and asked him to sign it.

An old-school brown paper Cracker Barrel menu titled Good Country Cookin with a hand-written signature that reads To Lisa Best Wishes Buddy Ebsen.

It’s funny – when you meet people that you have watched on television or on movie screens for years, you feel like you know them…but you don’t….you just know them by the parts they played. It’s really nice when you meet them and they turn out to be even nicer in person than they were on the screen.

Last night, I looked at that corner table while following the host into the restaurant and I remembered. I paused for just a moment to snap a picture and smile…thankful for so many wonderful memories. They are a gift.

A round wooden dining table surrounded by chairs at the Cracker Barrel in Branson, Missouri, featuring rustic wall decor, vintage photographs, and a menu rack in the foreground.

Did you ever watch the Beverly Hillbillies – or Petticott Junction – or Green Acres – or Barnaby Jones? 🙂

Want to stay updated on new stories? Come follow along and join the conversation on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/lisa.carlon.5

#ThinkOnGoodThings #CrackerBarrel #BransonHistory #BuddyEbsen #BeverlyHillbillies

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The Shoulders We Stand On

This past Sunday, I made the familiar drive home to Conway County, and I am so very glad I did….

The first Sunday in May is always Decoration Day at Old Hickory Cemetery. For me, it’s more than just a cemetery – It is a landscape of my history as well as many blessed memories.

When I was a little girl, graves were built up for Decoration Days. Daddy would haul in dirt to put on top of his father’s (my grandfather’s) grave and use a shovel to carefully mound it up, then a rake to make it smooth and neat before we placed the flowers to decorate the grave. Today, the modern convenience of riding mowers requires flat surfaces, so the mounds are gone—but the love that shaped them remains. That kind of love never really dies; it just waits for us to come back and remember it. That’s part of what Decoration Days are about…..remembering.

It’s a beautiful, time-honored pattern. Family members and friends arrive on Saturday or early Sunday to clean and tend the graves. Then, on Sunday afternoon, everyone returns to walk the grounds, admire the colorful silk arrangements, and share stories. Eventually, we all gather under the shade trees to talk and laugh and connect and catch up. Decoration Days are also about building and maintaining connections.

This past weekend, the weather was a rare gift—temperatures were pleasant and a cool breeze was blowing instead of the May heat and humidity that is typical. It was a wonderful weekend for the event….but as I looked around, I noticed there were fewer in attendance than ever before. There were two children walking through the cemetery with their grandmother and listening eagerly as she pointed out names and shared her memories of long ago. I was glad to see it – and thankful that my family had walked me through this same cemetery so many times sharing our stories and history as well. They gave me a gift.

I feel sad to see these traditions wane, because I believe these ties to our past are so important. It’s our history. Our history gives us some of our “why.” When we know and understand the grit and the joy of those who came before us – we find a compass for our own lives…..and it can change our trajectory.

In a way, it is a privilege—one I don’t take for granted—to have so many direct ancestors in one spot. One of my friends recently told me that she doesn’t know who her ancestors were, much less where they are buried. Over 30 of mine are within a 25-mile radius of where I grew up. To have 14 direct ancestors buried within 50 yards of where I will one day lie, many many years from now… it is a priceless kind of heritage. I am grateful to my parents and family for sharing the stories with me and blessing me with the memories.

On the drive home, I turned off to head down the winding little dirt road toward the little community of Lost Corner, Arkansas to decorate the graves of my great-grandparents, Mama and Papa Scroggins, and my great-great-grandmother, Ida.

The first thing you see as you wind down the road is a neat little old building (now used as a church) that stands quiet in front of the cemetery. It serves as a church building now, but a long time ago it was a school. I have a picture of my Mam-ma, my great aunt Sylvia, and my great aunt Ethel – along with their classmates standing outside the school as children. When I’m there, I love to imagine the sights and sounds of them running and playing and wondering and growing up here.

Mama and Papa and their girls had a hard life – but also good. They worked hard – picking cotton to make a living. My Mam-ma and her sisters ran and played with the other children while their parents picked – until they were about seven years old…then they joined their parents in fields. It’s hard work. Pickers slung a cotton bag over their shoulder to drag behind them and fill with cotton as they moved down the row. My great-aunt Verna said that when she was a little girl she would pick and drag that bag until it was too heavy for her to move. Then, she would leave that row for Mama or Papa to finish while she started on a new one.

Even with all the hard work, Mama Scroggins found time for art and beauty. She was naturally clever and artistic, often cleverly repurposing things instead of throwing them away. I have two small candleholders on the piano in my living room that she made from used metal cans. She even created her own wedding ring out of a solid silver quarter. Pretty talented!

My great-aunt Verna told me that Mama Scroggins would save scraps of paper all year long. Every spring, neighbors would come asking her to make paper flowers to decorate family graves – and she would work to get them made for everyone. Think of that—in a time of such hard manual labor, she found time to be an artist. After the day’s work was done, she spent her evenings folding, twisting, and cutting “scraps” into flowers to decorate the graves at the little cemetery where she now lies. The flowers I had bought to place on her grave were silk—but maybe next year I will learn to make paper flowers just for her. I would like that. She left a legacy that I want to remember and carry with me.

We are always moving forward in this life – and that’s good – but taking the time to look back—to learn and remember and honor the people who came before us—is how we realize whose shoulders we are standing on. We didn’t get here on our own. The progress, every comfort, and the joys we enjoy today was provided to us, to some degree, by the hard work of those who picked the sharp bolls of cotton until their fingers bled, by the resourcefulness of silver-quarter rings, and the quiet beauty of paper-flower bouquets of yesterday. When we remember them, we ensure that their contributions continue to live through us.

Does your family have a “Decoration Day” tradition? Or perhaps you have a “Mama Scroggins” in your history who made something beautiful out of nothing? I would love to hear about the shoulders you stand on in the comments today.

#ThinkOnGoodThings #OldHickory #LostCorner #ConwayCounty #ArkansasHistory #DecorationDay #FamilyLegacy #MamaScroggins #Roots #BlessedMemories #StandingOnShoulders

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The Balcony and the Legend: A Lesson from Marshfield

Some stories don’t just entertain us; they settle into our bones and teach us how to stand up when the rest of the world remains seated.

This past week at the Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival, I had the honor of listening to Mary Badham speak. Most know her as ‘Scout,’ the fiery, curious, thoughtful little girl in overalls from the wonderful movie To Kill a Mockingbird. But listening to her, I wasn’t just thinking about a movie—I was thinking about the soul of a story that has shaped generations.

If you have never seen the film or read Harper Lee’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, you are missing a piece of the American heart. It is a story about a widower lawyer, Atticus Finch, defending an innocent man in the 1930s South, told through the eyes of his young daughter.

Many people point to the moment Scout whispers a greeting (“Hey, Boo!”) to a misunderstood neighbor as the heart of the film. But for me, the most poignant,  emotional moment happens in the heavy silence of a courtroom balcony.

The trial is over. The verdict is in. Atticus has done the impossible, the honorable, and the courageous—and yet, in a system where prejudice outweighed the truth, he has lost. He has to gather his papers and walk out of that room with the weight of defeat on his shoulders.

But as he walks down the aisle, alone in his immense grief for an innocent man, something deeply impactful and emotional happens. In the balcony above, the African American community—those who had the most to lose and the most reason to be embittered by the day’s events—begins to rise in a silent, unified show of respect.

Reverend Sykes, the kind and dignified minister sitting with the children, leans down to a confused Scout. He doesn’t focus on the loss; he focuses on the man. He whispers:

‘Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passing.’

It is a line that brings me to tears every time. It’s a powerful reminder that our true stature isn’t measured by our victories, but by the courage we find to stand up for what is right—even when we stand in the wreckage of a defeat. In that moment, the balcony wasn’t just honoring an attorney; they were honoring the best in all of us. They were proving that even when we lose the battle, we never lose the dignity that comes from standing up for one another. It was a moment where grace outshined the darkness. It is a scene that calls us to look past our differences and find the grace to respect, support, and care for one another. Even when things feel divided, it reminds us that kindness is a bridge that can carry us through any storm.

I recorded this little clip of Mary (Scout herself!) sharing how she almost didn’t get the role. As you’ll hear her describe, her father originally said no—he wanted a quiet life for his daughter in Birmingham. If not for her mother’s intuition and a clever bit of persuasion to get her to that audition, movie history would look very different.

She also shared that Gregory Peck—the legendary actor who was the very embodiment of Hollywood’s Golden Age—wasn’t just ‘acting’ as Atticus. They grew close – and stayed that way for the rest of his life. During the five months of filming, Mary spent almost every weekend at the Pecks’ home, becoming part of their family. That bond remained until the very end, with Mary visiting him just weeks before he passed away.

In a time when things feel fast and often divided, returning to the lessons of Maycomb, Alabama, feels like coming home. We are so fortunate that the Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival brings these ‘moments’ to our doorstep. It’s more than entertainment; it’s a chance to sit in a church pew and listen to history tell us that kindness and courage never go out of style.

Harper Lee’s story, To Kill a Mockingbird, is wonderful. It’s why former First Lady Laura Bush has long cited this as one of her favorite books of all time. It’s why Oprah Winfrey once loved the story so much that she rushed to the library asking for ‘everything Harper Lee ever wrote’—only to find that this one perfect story was all the world truly needed.

If you haven’t seen the movie lately—or ever—do yourself a favor. Watch it. And when the man in the suit walks down that aisle, remember to stand up. Always, remember to stand up.

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The Recipes That Connect Us: A Full Circle Moment in Marshfield

The Recipes That Connect Us:

A Full Circle Moment in Marshfield

Since I was a child, I have loved to read stories about people. I can clearly see in my mind where the biographies section was shelved in the Berryville Elementary library back when I was in school. I couldn’t wait to read them all. There were stories about Booker T. Washington, Babe Didrickson, Chief Joseph, Betsy Ross, Dolley Madison, John F. Kennedy, John Paul Jones, the Wright Brothers, and so many more….

My Mother encouraged my love of reading by buying me books that I was interested in — books such as the Laura Ingalls Wilder series that I love dearly to this day. We couldn’t afford to buy the entire series at once — so Mother would get me one at a time…. buying most of them at the Bible bookstore that used to be on the northwest side of the Ozark Mall in Harrison. When she bought the last book in the series, she asked the store owner about the little cardboard box holder—the kind usually only available when you bought the entire set at once. Lo and behold, they had an extra for some reason, and my collection was finally complete. I still have that very well-worn treasured set today.

I was about 10 years old when I finished those “Little House” books, and the next time I went back to the Bible bookstore with Mother I searched for something new to read. It was always exciting to me to browse the books and anticipate the stories to be found in each one. That particular afternoon, I left the children’s books and wandered through the adult section where I spotted a book about our (then) First Lady, Mrs. Rosalynn Carter.

The picture on the cover was just beautiful. Mrs. Carter was wearing a stylish navy blue dress and looked so pretty with a lovely, warm smile on her face. When I told Mother that this was the book I wanted, she never hesitated. She didn’t tell me that this particular book was probably above my reading level or that it was a book intended for adults — she just bought me the book — and for that, I am grateful. I always thought I could do whatever I set out to do because my parents believed in me and encouraged me in my pursuits.

I have read so many books through the years. Some of them I have kept, some I haven’t…. but I still have that biography of Mrs. Carter.

Now let’s fast forward about…..50 years. (Goodness — that went by quickly! 🙂)

This week, I was fortunate to attend the 2026 Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival in Marshfield, Missouri. This festival is such a rich and intricate tapestry of history and community that it’s honestly hard to find the right words to do it justice. In fact, that’s a task for other posts soon to come!

In this story, I want to focus on one particular festival event — a cooking class.

For me, it was one of the highlights of the week — because I absolutely love to cook and I dearly love collecting great recipes with connections. Yes, on today’s internet you can search and find pretty much any recipe you like… but in my opinion, this is a loss instead of a gain. Recipes that are passed down throughout families, recipes that you get from friends and neighbors — are recipes with connections…. and those connections make not only the preparations but the meals so much more meaningful and enjoyable.

This was the second year I attended the Cherry Blossom cooking class, hosted by Andrew Och. Andrew is known as the “First Ladies’ Man” because he spent years traveling across the country, visiting the homes and hometowns of every single American First Lady to document their unique stories. This cooking class is a special event — and I wish you could have been there! Let me tell you about it and hopefully take you there with me through the story…

Conducted by Mrs. Allethea Wall (the sister of former First Lady Rosalynn Carter), her daughter, Julie Wall-Smith, and her daughter-in-law, Courtney Wall, it was a reminder of true Southern hospitality.

These ladies worked so hard to make every guest feel at home. At each table, we found a wonderful collection of “connections” to the place they still hold so dear—Plains, Georgia:

  • A flyer for “Butterfly Daze 2026“ — an annual celebration in Plains that honors the butterfly trail Mrs. Carter championed to protect the monarch butterfly.
  • A brochure for “Mother Allie’s House“ — Mrs Carter and Mrs. Wall’s childhood home that has been beautifully restored and is now available as a charming vacation rental. Wouldn’t that be memorable and fun?
  • A copy of Sumter County Living magazine, featuring a lovely article about Mrs. Wall (page 66! 🙂 )
  • Small packages of “Plains Peanuts“ (so delicious and completely addictive!)

The class was a beautiful picture of a family working together. Julie took the lead on demonstrating and preparing the dishes while Courtney assisted her, making sure everything was ready for each step. Mrs. Wall sat with them, the steady heart of the demonstration, providing her wisdom and a beautiful, welcoming smile.

This year, the stars of the show were three classic recipes: Cheese Straws, Rosalynn Carter’s Famous Cheese Ring, and a simple and delicious Peanut Butter Pie.

They shared their secrets while they worked — like how much grating your own extra-sharp cheese (not buying pre-grated!) makes recipes better and the importance of using only Duke’s mayonnaise. (I’m never without a jar of Duke’s in my own refrigerator — it truly is a staple! If you’ve never tried it, you are missing out!)

The real highlight came at the end, when we all sat down to enjoy the delicious cheese ring and cheese straws and peanut butter pies together.

After I left that day, I thought back to my 10-year-old self in the Bible bookstore holding the biography of Mrs. Carter. I realized that the real blessing of this class wasn’t just the food (though it was wonderful!) It was the connections.

We live in a world that can sometimes feel so divided, but in that room, surrounded by a recipe, a conversation, and the beautiful smiles of new friends, I was reminded that we really do all have so much in common. Sometimes, a simple recipe and a kind conversation can bridge the gap, can encourage us, and can remind us that things are still so good.

The best recipes aren’t just lists of ingredients… they are the ones that connect our past to our present, and our hearts to new friends.

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A Surprise Detour

Good day! If you’ve been reading here for a while, you know how much I love a good story—especially when it happens in real life.

A couple of years ago, a friend and I took a completely unexpected detour on our way home from Savannah. It turned out to be one of my favorite travel memories!

I’ve started writing about this adventure, the history we uncovered, and the charm of this little town over on my Facebook page. I’m telling the story in a few parts (for quick reads), and I’ve included some pictures to go along with it.

I hope you’ll “go” for a visit to this little “off the beaten path” town with me through my stories. It’s such a charming little place! I invite you to click the link below and join the fun. I so hope you enjoy it! More to come!

[Please click here to read Part 1 of the story!]

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Connections are Special

Being surrounded by family was normal for me when I was a little girl growing up in Conway County. The roots of all sides of my family are deep there, and I was blessed to grow up being loved by so many. I was only 8 years old (almost 9) when Mother and Daddy decided to move to Carroll County, and I remember what it felt like for the first time in my life to go to school, to church, to the grocery store, even to the park and not run into family or familiar friends. We were the only Carlons in Carroll County, and it felt unfamiliar and strange to have no connections. It seemed to me that my classmates knew everyone – that they had those local roots and connections that I was used to…. I wasn’t sad – it just felt….different, like something was missing.

When I started junior high, the halls on the high school wing of the building were lined with pictures of all the classes to ever graduate from Green Forest. Those pictures dated back to the late 1800’s. In addition, the sidewalks we walked on going to the cafeteria every day had the names of each of the classes recorded in the concrete. It all fascinated me – and I loved reading them – seeing the names of so many of my classmates’ siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, and grandparents – I loved history and family and connections even then!

I remember how excited I was when I learned that my Great-Uncle Ira and Great-Aunt Oretha had lived in Green Forest at one time. I remember when Daddy told me – I was eager to find out where their house stood and when they had lived here. I was full of questions – wondering why I hadn’t been told this before! I was very excited to find out that their oldest daughter Sarah, my first cousin once removed, had graduated from Green Forest High School. It may sound silly, but it was almost comforting to know that I had a connection too. I remember eagerly searching for her name as I walked the sidewalks. Knowing that both she and I graduated from the same high school – the only members of our family to do so – has always made me feel a kindred connection to her.

Discovering connections and learning the stories of my family’s roots and the journey from long ago to today is important and enjoyable to me. I’ve been having such fun with my ancestry research….

A few weeks ago, I posted a story about my 6th great-grandfather, U.S. Brigadier General Levi Garrett Casey, a decorated hero of the Revolutionary War. My link to him runs through my great-grandmother, Maggie Beeson – and I have found his stories fascinating.

While researching great-grandfather Casey and his family – I found some information about his brother, Jesse, that revealed another interesting connection. Jesse was born in Maryland and later moved with his family to South Carolina. He had five sons, one named Aaron. Along with his father, his uncles, and his grandfather, Aaron fought in the Revolutionary War, serving under Colonel Benjamin Roebuck.

One of Aaron’s sons, Abner (named for his great-grandfather), married and in 1834 moved his family to Arkansas, settling on the Buffalo Fork of the White River in what is now Newton County. I was surprised to discover that his homestead was located 40 or 50 miles from the house I live in now. (I think that’s so cool!)

According to information found in the Springfield (MO) Greene County Library, Abner, a millwright, built one of the first water mills in the area. He also built one of the first Baptist church buildings. He and his wife Elizabeth lived the remainder of their lives on their Newton County farm and are buried near Parthenon.

Here’s where I think the story gets really interesting!

Abner and his wife Elizabeth had four sons. One was named Levi (presumably after his great great uncle). After living in Arkansas for several years, Levi moved his family to Taney County, Missouri and settled on a land grant on Swan Creek near present-day Forsyth. He cleared the land and built a cabin, living there many years for the remainder of his life. The cabin was loved and stayed in the family for many years….until the late 1940’s when Bull Shoals Dam was being built. The construction of the dam meant the property would need to be sold, so Levi’s great-granddaughter, Opal McHaffie Parnell, sold the land with the stipulation that she could relocate and keep the treasured family home.

Years later, the beloved relocated cabin is still standing – in fact I visited it recently….as I have done many, many times through the years – never knowing of the family connection. The beautiful old dog-trot cabin, built by Levi Casey (my 3rd cousin 4X removed), is the McHaffie Homestead located on the grounds of the Silver Dollar City theme park.

Ironically, it’s one of my favorite places to visit at the park! Through the years, I have sat on the porch of the old dog-trot cabin many times listening to the City’s storyteller – Judy Dockery Young, watching depictions and demonstrations of pioneer life, or enjoying the beautiful music of the “Homestead Pickers” band.

Now, each visit is going to be a little bit more fun.

Connections are special.

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The Story of Margrette

A little grave marker, nestled among the familiar names of my relatives, was how I first met Margrette Ruth Blasingame. It was an unexpected discovery in the quiet, peaceful grounds of Old Hickory Cemetery, a place where my family’s history is literally carved in stone. In 2021, my Mother and I made several trips to the cemetery – working on a project we had undertaken to clean and restore family gravestones. Many of the old headstones were darkened and overgrown with lichens, making them difficult to read…..but one little stone in the family plot was virtually unreadable. I remember tracing the stone with my finger trying to determine what it said….and failing. We completed the first treatment, then waited, returned, and completed the second……then repeated the process again.

Finally, the darkened stone was clean, and the rough surface of the old gravestone bore a name, with the brief dates of a life etched beneath:

Margrette Ruth Blasingame
Born July 21, 1926
Died March 27, 1929.

She was my first cousin, once removed – the second child of my Great-Aunt Zilby and her husband J.H. Blasingame…

I remember my Aunt Zilby —she taught me how to play Yahtzee when I visited her on a trip with my parents to California when I was six years old. She also gave me a beautiful blue glass vase – an unusual gift for a small child – but one that I have kept and treasured through the years because it came from her. It sits proudly in my guest room today.

Aunt Zilby married J.H. Blasingame in 1923 when she was just 16. Their first son was born the next year. Two years later, another baby was born – a daughter named Margrette Ruth. Two more years – and another son was born to the little family. Shortly after his birth, they left Hattieville and moved to the Little Rock area. Daddy used to tell me of a general mercantile store, possibly much like the one Aunt Zilby’s father (my great-grandfather) operated in Hattieville. The store they ran was located on Highway 10 – a country road outside of Little Rock that carried travelers to and from the capital city. Over the decades, the growing city has swallowed much of that countryside…and the location of the long-gone little store is now part of the busy city on Cantrell Road.

For the past few years, that little gravestone was all I had—a stark, poignant reminder of a life cut short at only 2 years, 8 months, and 6 days of age. I often wondered what kind of sudden tragedy had stolen a child so young, and I thought about how devastating it must have been for Aunt Zilby and J.H. to bear.

Some pieces of the puzzle were finally uncovered when I found Margrette Ruth’s death certificate on Ancestry.com. What I found was not the record of a sudden, instant loss, but of a drawn-out, painful struggle. Her small life didn’t succumb to an accident, but to an illness—one that was relentless and, in those times, unbeatable. Margrette Ruth did not die at home; she passed away at Little Rock’s General Hospital. The certificate shows that a physician attended to her illness from March 7, 1929, until her death on the 27th.

The official cause of death was listed as “pyemia.”

The word was new to me – I had to look it up. Pyemia is a severe form of blood poisoning, a widespread systemic infection—a type of sepsis—that spreads through the bloodstream, leading to abscesses and multiple organ failure.

In the year 1929, it was typically a death sentence.

As a great-niece looking back though the decades, I can only imagine the helplessness – the panic – the family must have felt. They endured three weeks of watching their child fight a relentless, unseen enemy in a hospital room, hoping against hope that the doctors could turn the tide. But in 1929, no effective treatment existed.

The reason is simple: the age of antibiotics, something we take for granted, had not yet dawned. Pyemia, contracted likely from a simple injury or untreated infection, was a death sentence. Hospitals were full of people—children and adults alike—dying from infections that today are routinely treatable.

The life-saving drug, penicillin, and the resulting antibiotic age were still more than a decade away. Before this discovery, a simple cut or scratch or common illness could lead to a deadly infection, filling hospitals with people suffering from maladies for which doctors could offer little hope. Pneumonia, rheumatic fever, and yes, pyemia, were often insurmountable foes. It wasn’t until mass production efforts began in the United States in the 1940s that penicillin and later other antibiotics became the widely available healing medicines we know today.

As I think about little Margrette Ruth suffering for weeks in a hospital, her young parents watching helplessly—I am struck by a profound and painful realization: had she been born just fifteen or twenty years later, a simple course of medicine could have saved her life. The medications that we now use routinely were then only a future reality that arrived tragically too late for my great aunt and uncle’s little girl.

My study into Margrette Ruth’s short life turned out to be a poignant lesson in medical history. It made the familiar comfort of a doctor’s visit, a course of medication, or a simple preventative measure feel like an incredible, life-saving blessing. We truly are blessed by the advances of modern medicine, as well as the scientists and researchers who are constantly working to develop new treatments and improve our health care. I carry with me a deep gratitude for the countless lives that are now saved—lives that, in Margrette Ruth Blasingame’s time, would have been lost.